


Counting Days

by Ificouldbeanything123



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Abandonment, Counting, M/M, im sorry, prucan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-27 05:00:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16695901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ificouldbeanything123/pseuds/Ificouldbeanything123
Summary: 1,2,3,4,5, seconds, minutes, hours,6,7,8,9, days, weeks, months,10,11,12, years, decades,It didn’t matter who it was, if they were in anyway close to him, as soon as they left he would start counting. Seconds. Minutes. Hours. Days. Months. He would keep counting.





	Counting Days

****

Canada had never talked about it with anybody. Not America, he was too busy being a world superpower. Not France, the man, though affectionate at times, rarely gave him the time of day, even though he called himself Canada’s papa. God forbid he ask England, he would just brush him off, saying something about stiff upper lip. 

So he kept it in. He kept it all in for so long that some days he forgot about it. but other days he could barely get out of bed. It didn’t matter who it was, if they were in anyway close to him, as soon as they left he would start counting. Seconds. Minutes. Hours. Days. Months. He would keep counting. Some days he thinks it’s driving him crazy, the counting and the  doubt, but he can’t help it. It’s habit at this point. Habit caused by fear. After all what if he never saw them again?

If he were to guess what started it, he would probably say the nordics. Sweden, Denmark and Norway were so kind when they found him, giving him food and shelter and love. The natives, though kind never offered that same kindness, even native America only came and went. But the nordics nurtured him. But just as soon as they came they left. They had reason, they truly did, the natives and the winter drove them out, that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt thought. The thing that always got him was the promise to come back. They told him they would. And he waited. And waited. And waited. The started counting the days, and months, still waiting. 

Soon France has arrived to scoop him up And he realised it had been centuries, he they probably weren’t coming back. 

But now he had France. Wonderful France who coddled him and played with him, all the while repressing the natives. He was like a double edged sword, loving him,saying, no promising that he would always be with him. Yet hating his original people, the ones who stayed with him even when the vikings left, who had been with him since he woke up, even if the weren’t the same ones. But he is loved again and it feels wonderful, like he’s just waking up from a dream, so he can ignore the mistreatment of his natives. He’s even being fought over, France is rallying his troops, while England tries to invade. But the scars it make hurt, even if his heart feels as though it’s floating. He’s beginning to see less and less of France. The man had to go to the battlefields he says. No place for a child he says, as he leaves they’re little cottage, weapon I hand. But he doesn’t count. He trusts France, trusts him to come back and continue showering him with love, even as the number of cuts and scars increase.

Then he disappeared as well, leaving him with battle scars and waiting for England, the man who had caused those scars on his body. And he counted more. Sure the man he called father would come back, he had promised….  _ Just like the nordics.  _ Seconds, minutes, hours, days, years, decades. 

He was living with England now and the brother he had learns to love wants to leave, to be rid of England and be free. Canada can’t do anything to stop him. He is still too small for that even if he has started growing, America is physically bigger than him. And just like that his brother is gone too, left for the pursuit of freedom (and cheaper tea, he thinks chucking) , Canada is alone with the sobbing England, the man who left many scars and had grown to care for him. But now the man was a wreck, and Canada didn’t think England saw him anymore, that perhaps the loss of his favourite had broken his elder.   

Soon it’s been thirty years and ninety days and America has returned. But not to be his brother again. No the United States of America wants Canada’s land. Canada knows it’s his boss's decision to invade him but did America really have to come to his house to attack him? to burn down York with his men? No, but he did anyway. So Canada goes and burns down Washington in revenge. Because he is so angry, so very mad at the man he called brother, even though the logical part of his mind tells him that,  _ isn’t this What he wanted? To be noticed? Remembered?  _ But it isn’t not like this. His people are mad and he acts without thinking. Then his brother is gone again and,  **god what had he done, America would never talk to him again.**

After the war He rarely saw England at all, the man had cooped himself up in London and only came to check on him when it was necessary.  _ Minutes, hours, days, years.  _ His papa never came back, the man who had loved him so dearly, never came back, just like the nordics. When he became independent, his brother visited, and they apologised to each other, promising to keep in touch, to talk to each other more. Then America left, starting his count over again but the seconds stretched on, the minutes moved to fast and the days and years went by so so slowly. It was 51 years, 128 days, 4 hours, 8 minutes and 45 seconds until he saw his brother again. 

Then Prussia comes along. Suave, smooth Prussia, the first man to truly make him smile in years and he was putty in his hands before the first three weeks of knowing each other. Of offering pancakes and maple syrup, and of laughing through the night and of games of sports that they both loved to teach each other. But the voice always asks, “  _ how long? When will he leave and never return. He will just be one more person to add to the list of people who left and didn’t come back for so, so long. Give him up. _ ” And he was always so close to listening, so close to never talking to the albino again. But his heart betrayed him again. Just like with France, like with America, like with England and the nordics. 

And he’s sure he’s going insane because nothing seen right. Everything is topsy-turvy and all the things he’s ever believed no longer remains completely valid. Because they’re together now. He confessed his love and Prussia… Prussia returned it. Time seems out of whack, days sometimes seeming longer and other times seeming too short, leaving him with less air in his lungs and feeling lightheaded. Is this what it feels like to have someone care? To love someone? Or is it all an elaborate scheme from life to make him finally break. Gilbert tells him its wrong that he’s questioning it, that he shouldn’t even have to, that if so many people had left him that meant that they were the ones that he should leave behind, but he can’t help it. He still counts when the man leaves. Whether to go buy coffee or to go stay with his brother - because no matter what is said he is still east Germany and is connected to that land. And Canada’s always worrying, will he come back? Will he leave me like all the others have? Forget me like I was only worth dirt? After all, when has someone ever stayed and not left? 

**Author's Note:**

> I actually don’t quite know what I wrote here. I was scrolling through Pinterest when inspiration struck me and I’ve been writing this ever since. I’m sorry if the quality’s bad but I have it was at least interesting to read.


End file.
